Trans Baviaans 2026

Sometimes, the best way to appreciate what you had is for that thing to be taken away. The thing that you take for granted. The thing that is always there. The thing that is known and understood.

Guess who's back, back again?

(Me) 

It's the thing that you get out of bed for in the morning. The thing that motivates you to be better, to try harder, to beat your best. The thing that creates a bond between all of those involved. A community. A diverse collection of people of all shapes and sizes, but with a common objective. A common outcome.

The Pocket Sprocket Rockets

I've ridden through the Baviaans Kloof, from Willowmore to Jeffreys Bay twenty times. And each and every time has been a new and different experience. From the humble beginnings on a dusty parking lot on Knysna Street in Willowmore, to the fireworks and light show at Mentorskraal in Jeffreys Bay, and everything in between. The race has changed, evolved, grown. The riders have gotten fitter, faster, better conditioned. We've gone from entering via fax machine, to live updates on the internet. And the bikes - 26 inch hard tails with tubes, bar ends and 3x9 gearing to the modern race machines of today (I still ride bar ends, and one day they will be cool again, just like Camelbaks. Mark my words!).

Two and a half smiles

And yet, these are not the things that make the event so special. At the core of everything amazing is usually one special ingredient. One magic touch. One key differentiator. Throw 1200 people together on mountain bikes for 230kms and they will have a great time. They will push their limits, they'll write blog posts, and they will earn that medal at the finish, but try as you might, you can't recreate the magic.

Got the Pogi hair and the Voeckler tongue

And that's what the Baviaans Kloof is to Trans Baviaans. The soul of the event. The secret sauce. The x-factor. And nothing reminded me more of that than this year's Langs Baviaans - a last-minute detour that runs one mountain range over from the Baviaans Kloof, brought on by the damage caused by the devastating floods earlier this year.

This wasn't the first time we had to ride next to the Baviaans Kloof - we'd done the same thing in 2011, for the same reasons, yet try as I might, I couldn't remember much about that race. I remember the sky being dark, feeling like it was just above our heads. I remember chasing wheels and hanging on for dear life. And I remembered walking up a very steep hill and then vomiting behind the green water tanks at the top of said hill. And that's it - 160kms compressed into three memories.

Blue skies

Ask me to recite the Baviaans Kloof, and I think I can do it in my sleep - the drop into the Kloof, the initial water crossings, the police station, the rolling hills, the narrowing of the road, the entrance to the Baviaanskloof Nature Reserve, ever changing road surface, the actual start of the Mother of All Climbs, the drag to the check point at the top of the climb, the tedious section out of the reserve towards Kondomo. And I can tell how I felt, both emotionally and physically, at each point along the way. I can recall where I shouted at Captain Craig, where Little John shouted at us, where Captain Craig's bike broke, the 7 different spots up MAC where I have vomited, where my light fell off and went flying into the bushes, where Snack Monster Mike found some legs and hurt us all. 

Trans Baviaans is riding through the Baviaans Kloof - it's the stories we remember, the tales we tell for years afterwards. It's not about winning, it's about the journey with mates doing cool things on bikes through one of the most amazing parts of our beautiful country. And sometimes, if things go right, the good results come too.

Anxious Adriaan upping our Camelbak credibility

But this isn't about the Baviaans Kloof - it's about the Langs Baviaans, and the adventures of The Pocket Sprocket Rockets. Captain Craig and I have figured out that the best recipe for a good ride is a three person team. In a two person team, you're either the strongest, or you're the weakest, and no amount of gels and praying to the gods is going to change that. It's a long time to eat dust, feel sorry for yourself, and chase wheels. However, a three man team changes that. Yes, there is still the strongest rider, and there is still the weakest rider, but there is also the opportunity to be the Goldilocks rider. The one in the middle. Where the pace is just right. And so Captain Craig and I set about trying to find a new victim teammate for 2026. 

Little John has retired from all forms of bike riding. Snack Monster Mike, despite making an amazing recovery is still not quite back to his Baviaans best, and the long list of one-time team mates are not returning our calls (probably says something about us). However, we managed to find an unsuspecting volunteer - Anxious Adriaan. In hindsight, it's a miracle he even entertained our invitation. Anxious Adriaan comes from up country where you can ride for 200kms and do 800m of climbing. Anxious Adriaan is a roadie, and has only had a mountain bike for 8 months. Anxious Adriaan has never done a mountain bike race before. Anxious Adriaan has never ridden through the winter before. Looking back, the signs were there that Anxious Adriaan was going to have an adventure of a lifetime!

An "I am still having fun" thumbs up

As with the previous time we rode Langs Baviaans, nothing particularly exciting happened for the first 3 hours - we'd found a nice bunch to sit in, the pace was decent, and the kilometres were just ticking by. Captain Craig, Anxious Adriaan and I seemed to have figured out the pecking order and how to manage things quite nicely. And then some race snakes up ahead got lost and took a wrong turn, and rejoined our well-oiled little bunch and then completely blew it to pieces. The pace increased, the lines got worse, and at exactly 114kms The Pocket Sprocket Rockets had a Rapid Unscheduled Disassembly. Anxious Adriaan's legs fell off. Literally. He actually got off his bike to go looking for them. One hundred and fourteen kilometres done, one hundred and sixteen kilometres to go. And the hills were yet to start.

Looking for legs. Last seen about 100m away

But, we've all been here before - it might not be great to be the guy that's suffering, but both Captain Craig and I had a lot of empathy for Anxious Adriaan because we've both been in this situation countless times. Empathy and relief that it wasn't either of us!

While Anxious Adriaan was looking for legs, I was looking for flowers

 A friend once said that it's the situations where everything goes pear shaped that make for the best stories, and typically, most events that I do with Captain Craig end up in some sort of chaos - this blog is a written testament to that. It also probably explains why I have so few memories of the 2011 edition - apart from a little wobble in the middle, we had a near perfect ride.

A view I know well, with the desert in full bloom

 Anxious Adriaan found enough remnants of his legs to limp into CheckPoint 3, where Captain Craig gave him the well practised "Make sure you eat and drink lots" speech, while he himself ate and drank lots. I do remember asking Anxious Adriaan if he regretted saying yes to our invitation to ride with us, and while his mouth said "No, this is an adventure", his eyes were saying "Help me. I'm being held hostage against my will".

Another photo in my collection of Captain Craig sitting down and eating

 The distance from CheckPoint 3 to CheckPoint 4 is just 28 kilometres. On a road bike that's less than an hour. On a mountain bike on a lumpy gravel road, that's just over an hour. But, between us and CheckPoint 4 lay what is known as The Father of All Climbs. Worst case scenario, I reckoned we'd be at CheckPoint 4 in 2 hours. That's 14km/h and about the same pace as a moderate jog.

Except we weren't going to be jogging. It turned out we wouldn't even be walking. I'd like to describe the way we all climbed that hill as doing the zombie shuffle while pushing a bike. Up a super steep hill. Lined with the skulls of infants. And if there is one thing that super stiff carbon soled cycling shoes were not designed for, it's the zombie shuffle. The last time I pushed my bike this much up a hill was back in the 2009 Epic, and this certainly doesn't make many people's lists of cross training event preparations.

Anxious Adriaan thought the downhill almost killed him. He had yet to see the up hill

 It wasn't all walking - there were sections where we were able to ride. The road would flatten out and the rocks would disappear, only to be replaced by dongas and mud. Anxious Adriaan was suffering from a serious case of sense of humour failure from all the hike-a-bike, so you can imagine his mood when his front wheel washed out in front of him on one of these rare rideable sections and he landed in a giant mud puddle. Still clipped into his pedals. Cramping. It looked like he'd spent twenty minutes wrestling a pig, and smelled much the same.     

Just chilling

Through sheer determination, guts, and a desire to not die on that climb, Anxious Adriaan and the rest of The Pocket Sprocket Rockets made it to CheckPoint 4, one hour and twelve minutes behind my worst case guess. And despite only about 100 riders having made it there before us, it looked like a battle zone. Broken bodies everywhere. Thousand yard stares as riders willed themselves to eat and drink, fighting porridge brain, cramps, and the desire to curl up into a small ball and sleep.

So many flowers making the hills "pop"

I've said it before, and I'll say it again - I don't know what they put in the soup at CheckPoint 4, but it borders on magical. Or illegal. Possibly both. Over the years, this soup has saved the life of many a rider, including mine. Much like the secret formula for Coca-Cola, I do hope Wikus has this recipe locked away in a safe somewhere.

Just chilling. And snacking

By now, Anxious Adriaan had given up on his nutrition strategy of a gel every 30 minutes and had resorted to eating handfuls of salt, washed down by some magic soup. And slowly the colour was returning to his face, his mood lightened, and somehow he was able to contemplate the 69 kilometres that still remained. And off we went - back towards familiar roads of the OG Baviaans route.

Just chilling. And snacking. And chatting

 And before I could even have a sip of juice from my fresh bottle, we rolled into CheckPoint 5, and the reassuring sight of Godsend Gary, and the delicious smelling chip butties. Gary is our backup. Our familiar face. Our shoulder to cry on. Our biggest supporter. And he once again delivered - fixing mind, body and bike and getting Anxious Adriaan ready for the last slog. Despite the offer of hugs, none of The Pocket Sprocket Rockets took him up on that.

A beautiful sunset. Not sure Anxious Adriaan would agree that it was worth the 3 hours of hiking to see

The rest of the race was mostly uneventful - we cruised up the NeverEnder, Anxious Adriaan finding his groove, whipped in and out of CheckPoint 6 like Formula One cars, and set off towards Jeffreys Bay. Somewhere after that Anxious Adriaan asked about the much talked about jaffles, to which we told him that we'd already passed them without stopping. In hindsight, this was the moment that we should have told a little white lie and said that they were still up ahead, because, on hearing that, Anxious Adriaan's legs fell off once again. Thankfully, the hard work was done and we just had to limp the final 7 kilometres to the finish.

We crossed the line in 43rd place. There was no celebration. No high fives. No group hugs. But there was a sense of relief. A gladness that it was over, and a comfort that we'd survived. Like all things bike riding, this had been another adventure on two wheels, and I now have yet another person who I share a bond with over the twenty two Trans Baviaans rides I've done. And as for Anxious Adriaan - not bad for a guy who's never ridden a mountain bike race before - only 96 people finished ahead of him. 

I'm glad we got to experience the Langs Baviaans once again, and I'm glad that the Langs Baviaans has reminded me what amazing actually looks like. Sometimes we need to see and experience something different and foreign to appreciate the magic of the thing we have in our hands. The thing that has been crafted and curated and cared for over the years that sets it apart from the rest.    

 

Trans Baviaans #22 done - relief all round